Nyx
by silentsister
Summary: Set after Sanctuary. Rodney's having trouble sleeping after what he's seen lately.


Disclaimer: I'm a poor college student; as such, I own nothing and receive nothing from this. Woe.

Author's Note: I wrote this after Sanctuary aired last season and submitted it to the Weir/McKay list on Yahoo, but just got around to posting it here. A little angst, a little fluff – it's all good.

Dr. Rodney McKay rubbed at his eyes in frustration and vainly tried to stifle a yawn as he pushed himself back from the table that served as his workspace. The broad expanse of stainless steel was nearly obscured by the variety of both Ancient and Terran devices, tools, and notes that littered its surface, but Rodney knew exactly where everything was and could have the tool he needed at hand within seconds.

However, not one of those tools was doing him any good at the moment – despite his efforts, the small silvery sphere he'd been examining remained completely unresponsive. Lieutenant Ford's team had uncovered it during their exploration of the living quarters in the south pier, and since the touch of Sergeant Dwyer, attached to the team due to her possession of the ATA gene, hadn't activated the device, it had been shunted to McKay's lab as a curiosity to be investigated when he had the time.

And because images of Brendan Gaul and the neat bullet hole in his temple, not to mention Johnson and Wagner and the others dead of the nano-virus, plagued him every time he closed his eyes, Rodney certainly had the time.

The stupid little sphere had become his refuge from the horrors he had seen in his time on Atlantis, those sights and sounds that ruined every pleasant dream. He would work on it until the wee hours of the morning, and sometimes he was still sitting there at the table, turning the hunk of metal over and over in his hands, when Dr. Zelenka stopped in to bring him his first cup of coffee of the day. As unlikely as it had seemed at first, the two scientists had bonded through the crises that came their way and forced them to collaborate. The soft-spoken Czech had managed to see past Rodney's prickly exterior and brusque manner to the brilliant but insecure man beneath. He never pressed McKay when he was in one of his morose moods, instead content to show his solidarity through the coffee they shared in comfortable silence each morning.

Then there was Elizabeth. Rodney hadn't been able to confirm it as of yet, but he suspected that Zelenka had slipped up at some point and mentioned his night-long vigils to her. Though she hadn't truly confronted him about it, she didn't hesitate to direct some pointed comments his way every once in a while in the hopes that he would take the hint to open up and let her know what was going on.

He hadn't taken her up on that unspoken offer.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Elizabeth – on the contrary, he trusted her implicitly. But he was afraid of revealing his vulnerability to anyone, even her; to put the inner workings of his mind on display would just invite even more trouble. His carefully-constructed emotional defenses had been in place for years without fail, and they had done a pretty good job of keeping him safe thus far. Of course, there had been a few times, mostly having to do with one beautiful woman or another, when he'd gotten burned, but that couldn't happen again if he didn't let it.

So he continued to ponder the sphere. Tonight was a textbook example of his strange ritual; a quick glance at his watch told Rodney that it was already 2:30 in the morning. He straightened and winced at the ache that throbbed in his lower back, an ache produced by sitting hunched over on a stool for long hours. Briefly, he debated going to bed – it was tempting, he had to admit, but he just wasn't in the mood for nightmares tonight.

Suddenly, the sound of someone clearing their throat sounded behind him and he started, the noise unnaturally loud to ears that had heard nothing but the soft humming and whirring of various machines for hours. Turning too quickly, he nearly unseated himself.

Elizabeth Weir was standing in the doorway of his lab, her arms crossed across her chest and an inscrutable expression on her face. She was draped in a flowing dressing gown of peach silk; wrapped loosely about her, it revealed a blue tank top and white pajama bottoms underneath.

"Elizabeth," Rodney said, surprised. Her appearance was distracting, to say the least, but he forced his mind to disregard the tousled beauty of her lush brown hair and attend to the matter at hand. His brow furrowed. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

She shook her head. "I might ask the same question of you, Rodney," she said, advancing. As she drew even with him, he turned away from her and fixed his attention on the sphere on the table, picking it up to play with it absently. "You need to sleep," she admonished him gently, carefully avoiding a tone that he would misconstrue as accusatory.

Some part of him was annoyed that she was employing her diplomatic skills and experience against him, but another part, weakened by hours of lonely reflection, urged him to just give it up. "I do sleep," he protested half-heartedly, avoiding her perceptive green eyes. She could see right through him, he knew that. He silently begged her not to press the issue, because he didn't know if he could handle it, and he didn't want to lose his composure in front of Elizabeth.

Suddenly, her hand was on his right arm, staying his nervous fiddling with the sphere and prompting him to look up at her. Her eyes locked on his, and he knew he was lost. "I know," she said simply, "that you have nightmares about what you've seen. I can see it when I look into your eyes. I have them too, Rodney. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Perhaps," he replied. "But even if you disregard my perceived shame over the matter, you're still left with the simple fact that those nightmares don't go away. It's difficult to lay awake at night, alone with your thoughts, staring at the ceiling, desperately hoping that your eyes won't close and that you won't have to see it all over again when you drift off to sleep." He stopped short, a horrified look flitting across his face as his brain caught up with his mouth and he realized what he'd just divulged.

Elizabeth's gaze remained steady and she was silent for a few moments. "Come with me," she said at last, the hand that rested on his forearm sliding down to slip around his right hand and draw it away from the sphere. Her hand was so much warmer than the cold metal of the device and he looked up at her, taken aback.

"What?" It was as if she hadn't heard his confession, and he was puzzled, but curious.

"Come with me," she repeated, a small smile playing at the edges of her mouth as she tugged on his hand. She was irresistible when she was like this, sympathetic and subtly lighthearted, and Rodney found himself following her out of his lab and through the corridors of Atlantis.

Before long, they were standing at the door of his quarters, and he expected her order him to get some sleep and then depart. But Elizabeth didn't stop, pausing only for the doors to register her presence and open to admit them before drawing him inside.

"Um, Elizabeth?" Rodney asked, suddenly uncertain as the doors whooshed closed behind him. She dropped his hand and turned to face him.

"You're going to get some sleep," she said firmly, "And I'm going to help you, because I'm worried about you. I know that you fancy yourself indefatigable, but you're going to make yourself sick if you keep this up." Turning from him, she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. She gestured toward the adjoining bathroom. "Now, go get ready for bed."

Flabbergasted, Rodney just stared at her, astonished. His mind was jumping to some strange conclusions that he didn't think possible, but he didn't know what else to think. Certainly Dr. Elizabeth Weir wasn't propositioning him, right here in his own quarters?

Seeing the shocked expression on his face and intuiting his thought process, Elizabeth laughed, the cheerful sound cutting through his confusion. He wondered briefly if he should be offended, for she had surely figured out where his mind was starting to go with this, but then she said, "Rodney, you do have an active imagination. You don't need to worry; I'm not suggesting anything improper. We'll certainly stay fully clothed." Growing serious, she continued. "I'm volunteering to keep your nightmares at bay tonight. You don't have to face them alone, you know – you do have friends to help you."

Rodney blinked. "You'd do that for me?" When she nodded, he shifted his gaze to the floor, his mind already beginning to process the repercussions of accepting this offer. But he cut those thoughts off abruptly, determined not to ruin Elizabeth's generous gesture by overanalyzing the situation. "All right," he finally said, gratified at her smile.

Later, when they both lay ensconced in heavy blankets to ward off the nighttime chill of the city, her slim hand on his chest and her deep, even breathing lulling him to sleep, Rodney stared up at the ceiling yet again. But this time he wasn't alone.

That night, the nightmares didn't come.


End file.
